Run, Draco
by Distempered
Summary: Directly after his botched mission, Draco Malfoy learns what it really means to be a Death Eater.


**Disclaimer:** The last time I checked – and I check often – I wasn't J.K. Rowling.

A great big thank you to **Kelcie** and **Ashley (shenendoahkami)** for the beta. Thanks muchly, and please leave a review.

**RUN, DRACO**

He never realized just how expansive the Hogwarts grounds were before he was forced to run the length of them. It was the only fully-formed thought in his head -- that the length of land was never going to end. Malfoys, he thought, were not built for long-distance running. Draco had never really wanted to consider himself delicate, but it was becoming increasingly harder for him to delude himself any longer.

He could scarcely see now. It had grown very dark, and it felt like the trees of the Forbidden Forest were moving in on themselves, clustering upon each other to make it even more difficult for him to escape. But, Draco knew that he had to keep running. All he could hear was Snape's voice urging him onward, almost pleading with him to keep going.

Sounds had intensified to make up for the lack in sight. Draco could hear his footfalls on the forest floor. Every crackle, every snap, every step was at least ten times louder than normal. He could also hear his blood pounding in his ears. Blood pounded in his ears, anddrops of sweat that poured down his pale cheeks sounded like a rushing waterfall against his skin.

He found that he was completely unaware of anyone except himself. It was almost as though a tunnel or vacuum had been created just around him. He had no idea how far behind or ahead of him any of the others were, or if any of them had fallen, or if Snape had already _Disapparated_ away. But he kept moving, kept sprinting through the forest, unaware of the cuts and scrapes he was accumulating from errant tree branches.

His lungs were burning. His breath came in wheezing gasps, and he was sure that his face was an ugly beet red. His head was buzzingbuzzed loudly, and he winced as his muscles were screamingscreamed in protest. It couldn't be much further now, though.

_Run, Draco._

"I'm running!" he shouted breathlessly, but when no answer came, he realized that Snape wasn't calling out to him anymore. He must have imagined it.

He needed to stop running. The edge of the grounds had to be close at hand -- it felt like he'd been running for hours. He honestly didn't know how much longer he could stand itkeep going. And just as that thought passed through his buzzing brain, another surpassed it in importance. Draco wondered how Snape was holding up. If he himself was having trouble running, there was no telling how Snape was handling this flight through the forest.

He realized that his brain was awakening from its fog, and he was surprised that he hadn't tripped and fallen yet. Perhaps his body knew how much was at stake, or perhaps the forest did, but in any case, he was glad that he was able to keep his bearings.

It still felt like there was no end in sight. The buzzing in his head was clearing, but the thoughts that were taking its place were slowing him down. His pace was decreasing, though his heart was still poundingheart was still pounding, even as he sank to his knees. He pitched forward onto his hands, dry heaving onto the forest floor. Sharp pains stabbed through his skull and spots of black were clouding his vision. He was going to faint.

But before he could sink into a grateful sleep, someone grabbed him by the scruff of the neck and hauled him upward. "I told you to run." The voice was still as sharp and cutting as ever, despite the long run, and Draco was helpless to argue with the man who had just saved his life. Snape latched onto Draco's arm and shoved him into a run again.

Draco was screaming and crying out loud now. Though his words were incoherent, more like jumbles of letters and sounds rather than actual words, Snape seemed to understand. "We're almost there," Snape said, as Draco started to falter once more.

He continued running, until finally, at long last, Snape pulled Draco close to him, pressing Draco's face into his thin chest, and _Disapparated_ with a loud crack.

Were he able to feel properly and process thought, Draco would have complained loudly about the discomfort of Side-Along Apparation. But when they arrived at their destination, Draco collapsed into an ungraceful heap on the floor, his muscles twitching violently beneath his skin, which caused painful spasms and jerks of his limbs.

"It hurts," rasped Draco, clutching at his heartchest.

"My son, what's happened to my son!" Narcissa Malfoy darted across the small receiving room to kneel next to Draco. She cradledCradling him into her arms, she rockeding him like he was three years old again. "Shh, baby, it's going to be okay."

"It really hurts, Mum," Draco whispered, pawing at his mother's back as he hugged her tightly.

"It's going to be all right, my darling, I promise." Narcissa began to cry softly, gently stroking Draco's hair. "What's happening to him?" she then shouted to the others in the room, her scream erratic and hysterical.

"The speed and distance he ran through the forest, and the shock of what's just happened to him, have taken a toll on his already fragile state," answered Snape gravely.

"What is wrong with you all? Why aren't you helping him?"

Snape sighed and knelt at Narcissa's side. "Narcissa, you need to let him go. You know that our Lord needs to see him before we do anything to alleviate his pain."

Narcissa blinked rapidly to stop her tears and then reluctantly began to disentangle Draco from her arms.

"No, Mummy, don't let me go, please," pleaded Draco, clinging desperately to her.

"Draco, you _will_ let go of your mother this instant," barked Snape, and Draco let go immediately. He rose gingerly to his feet and nearly collapsed again, until Snape gripped him tightly by the upper arms, eliciting a whimper from Draco. "You need to remain strong until the Dark Lord has addressed you. After that you can fall to pieces for all I care, but right now you must remain calm. Do you understand me, Draco?"

Slowly and carefully, Draco schooled his features into impassivity and nodded in affirmation. Snape regarded Draco him severely, before turning the young man around to face his mother again. Draco extended a shaking hand to help Narcissa to her feet.

"Draco, I am to take the two of you in to see him," she said, her voice hitching.

Draco did not trust himself to answer her, for fear that he would burst into tears. The Dark Lord would not appreciate his tears. He nodded slowly,. and w When she turned to lead Draco and Snape on through the antechamber and on into the Death Eaters' headquarters, Draco pressed a desperate hand into his chest, willing his heart to stop pounding so hard.heart to stop pounding so hard. He felt Snape's hand on his shoulder, guiding him along as he walked, and that small comfort helped to quell at least some of his fear.

_Run, Draco._

Draco's eyes began to sting with unshed tears. He wondered if perhaps he hadn't run far enough. This meeting was not going to bode well for him, and he knew it. Snape squeezed his shoulder, and Draco took a long shuddering deep breath in. "I'm in trouble, aren't I?" he asked, turning watery grey eyes on the man he'd suddenly come to think of as a mentor. "For not doing my task -- I'm in a lot of trouble."

"I will not lie to you, Draco," answered Snape. It was all he said, and answer enough for Draco.

Moments later, the three of them, as well as the other two Death Eaters who had been in the room, had reached the door to the large meeting room. The two hulking Death Eaters entered first, after one had turned a quick leering eye on Draco, leaving Draco, Narcissa, and Snape waiting to be called in.

"Do you think he'll kill me?" asked Draco fearfully, and Narcissa moaned, reaching out to clutch Draco's hand in hers.

"I am not sure. Although you did not complete the mission, it does not change the fact that it was completed. Whatever happens though, you must remain calm -- take whatever punishment he sees fit to give you with as much aplomb as you can."

Draco frowned, seemingly on the verge of a complete breakdown. "I don't know if I can."

"Draco, you have to!" said Narcissa. "You have to." She drew him into a hug again, tight and crushing. "I cannot lose you, too."

Draco could not answer her because the door suddenly swung forward to admit them into the large meeting room. Upon Draco's momentary hesitation, Snape put his hand back on the boy's shoulder to guide him forward into the room.

It was a large and round room, currently full of Death Eaters -- some of whom had just been at Hogwarts with Draco. They grouped themselves into a small semi-circle, leaving a large space where, presumably, Voldemort would stand when he entered the room. The Death Eaters were talking amongst themselves, but they silenced when Draco, his mother, and Snape entered. Snape moved to find his place in the semi-circle, standing next to Peter Pettigrew. Narcissa gave Draco one last encouraging and desperate squeeze of the hand and then moved next to her sister Bellatrix on the far side of the room.

Draco wasn't sure where he was supposed to stand. He'd never actually been included in a full Death Eater meeting, so he didn't know where his place was, or even if he had a particular place at all. But, he didn't think that now was the appropriate time to ask, and he wasn't sure that he'd be able to get the words out anyway. He didn't trust himself to open his mouth, afraid that he might scream, or start crying, or be sick. Weakness was not an option right now.

He remained on the outskirts of the circle, head brimming with terrible thoughts, each image more ghastly than the next, of what was going to happen to him.

_I should have just done it_, he thought, and that it became that single thought that pushed all the terrible images away. Why hadn't he just done it? Why hadn't he just killed the old man when he'd had the chance? Dumbledore looked like he was half-dead already up there on the tower, so why couldn't Draco have just finished him off?

Draco feared the answers to those questions. _You're not a killer_, Dumbledore had said, and as much as Draco had wanted to protest, a small part of himself knew it to be true.

It was an ugly feeling -- self-doubt. It was something that Draco had never really had much opportunity to feel before; an emotion that he tried not to allow himself. Self-doubt was not for people like him. It was for lesser men. But this past year had made him acutely self-conscious of his doings. It shouldn't have taken him so long to get the Death Eaters into the school. It shouldn't have been so hard to kill the old man. It should have been easy just to say those two words; the words that had rolled so effortlessly off of Snape's tongue. Draco should have just swallowed his fears and performed his task. But he hadn't; and now he was afraid.

A door slammed against the wall, from a forceful shove, causing Draco to jump out of his thoughts. Fear surged through his body, and it gave Draco a cold feeling of dread in his stomach. Gooseflesh dimpled his normally smooth skin. He began to sweat a cold, apprehensive sweat, and his heart pulsed angrily inside his chest.

"Come here, young Malfoy."

Oh, Draco had always wondered how the Dark Lord could make even the most innocuous of statements sound evil, disgusting, or terrifying. Perhaps it was that the voice issuing from that hideous, lipless mouth did not sound like it belonged. Draco had always pictured a voice that could wrap itself around a person and squeeze out information -- low and seductive, perhaps even graveled. But the truth was that this high and frigidly rasping voice was much more terrifying.

"I'll not ask again, my boy," said Voldemort, his slit-like, red eyes fixing upon Draco with such open loathing that he couldn't suppress a wracking shudder.

He vaguely heard a tittering of malevolent laughter as he stepped forward into the circle. He stood directly in front of the Dark Lord's chair, and at a jerking nod of the man's head, Draco dropped quickly to his knees in deference. He did not dare speak at all until the Dark Lord invited him to do so, but he was itching just to explain away his failure.

To Draco's surprise, however, the Dark Lord did not address him right away. He swept forward from his chair, cutting an imposing figure, as he worked his way around the circle, inspecting his followers.

"You've done well tonight, my friends," Voldemort began. He paused before Draco's mother and ran a long, shockingly white finger down her cheek. Draco stiffened imperceptibly, though he had a feeling that Voldemort noticed because his hand lingered around Narcissa's neck a moment too long before he moved further around the circle. ""Although Harry Potter has not been disposed of, his meddlesome champion has been eliminated. I repeat, you've done well, and as you know, Lord Voldemort rewards those who do him well."

Draco tried to remain as stiff-backed as he could, aware that even the slightest change in posture would show the weakness beneath his skin. If only his head would stop whirring, or his heart rate would slow, or the knots in his stomach would untie themselves…if at least one thing let up, perhaps he would manage to survive what was sure to come.

"As you also know, my faithful friends," Voldemort continued, now moving towards the center of the room again, "Lord Voldemort does not reward those who fail him. He does not appreciate it when his carefully thought out plans are foiled…" The Dark Lord paused; he was standing right behind Draco now, and the boy could feel the palpable fury radiating around him. Voldemort spat, "Especially by young, useless, weak children."

Draco could not help but recoil at the venom in his Master's words. It couldn't be long now. It couldn't be much longer until the run was over.

"Have you anything to say for yourself, Draco?"

Draco wasn't even sure he should answer. He thought that maybe if he stayed quiet, the Dark Lord would take it as genuine regret for not having completed his mission -- and maybe that would be it. Draco was still rather green when it came to the politics of Lord Voldemort.

He felt a shocking current run through his body, causing his body to spasm painfully. He struggled not to cry out, but when the current traveled through again, Draco let out a sharp cry.

"I asked you a question. When I ask a question, I expect an answer, boy. You would do well to remember that."

"Ye-ye-yes, s-s-s-sir," stammered Draco.

He then felt heavy pressure on his back. Voldemort put one boot on the small of Draco's back and then kicked out, forcing Draco to fall forward onto his hands. He was then slammed flat to the floor by magic, his face smashed into the freezing cold parquet. Breathing heavily, Draco struggled to pull himself up, but found that he no longer had the strength. His head was dizzy like before, and his breathing was becoming labored and wheezing again.

The Dark Lord laughed, high and cold, and then levitated Draco until he was standing again. Draco wobbled precariously and nearly toppled over once the levitation spell was broken.

"Now, have you anything to say for yourself?"

Nausea was rising up inside him, and Draco could taste blood and bile in his cheeks. He opened his mouth to speak, but no words would form either in his head or on his tongue. His mouth hung open uselessly for several minutes, and then, seemingly without warning, Draco dropped to his knees again, bent over at the waist, and vomited onto the floor.

By now, Lord Voldemort had had quite enough.

When Draco had finished choking and coughing out the last of his sickness, he raised a violently shaking hand to his lips and wiped very hard, trying to wipe away all trace of weakness. He was crying openly now; ugly, salty tears that trickled their way down his cheeks and gathered on his quivering lips. Finally, he was able to speak.

"I'm sorry, my Lord. I've failed you." The words were barely above a whisper; gone was the sharp, biting, and nasty tone that Draco normally used.

If Draco thought, however, that the admission of failure was going to be enough for Voldemort, he was sorely mistaken. Draco looked up to see his Master standing directly over him, staring down at him menacingly.

"You are correct, Draco. You've failed, and for that, you deserve punishment."

Before he could think, or move, or draw breath again, Draco was hit with the Cruciatus Curse. It was pain far more intense than anything he had ever experienced in his life -- far worse than the _Sectumsempra_ that Potter had used on him. It was worse even than that ungodly run through the forest.

He couldn't see, think, breathe… he was being stabbed over and over again…he might have been screaming, he didn't know…

Narcissa was sobbing into the shoulder of Bellatrix, who looked as though she wanted to take over the punishment of her nephew. Snape was careful to keep his expression totally neutral, although inside something was fighting with him; he wasn't sure what it was, but it was painful.

Draco shrieked; his screams were high-pitched and terrifying to witness. His body was writhing all over the floor. He should have run farther. He didn't know how much longer he could take this. No, Draco decided he had not run far enough - not at all.

He was dying; he could feel it.

Draco blacked out then, falling into blissful unconsciousness.


End file.
